Nightmare
by angelrays
Summary: This is my first story to be published on fanfiction. I hope you like it and please review. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Regret

When I was much younger, Mum left me. I was four years old and couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I wasn't going to he see her face again. I waited by the window every night for her to come up the patio, smiling radiantly as if nothing had ever happened. It took a long time to realize she was never coming back. That I was on my own. Suddenly, the dark clouds that had once just been looming on the horizon, were now right over head, threatening a down pour so heavy that I was going to drown in it...

"Moira! Get down here, now!" Dad yelled at the top of his lungs.

I sighed and made my way downstairs, pulling out my earphones and putting my iPod on the hallway table. I opened the door and then switched off, like I always did, now.

I could see Dad's mouth moving but I didn't hear to the words. I knew how the lecture went, knew it off by heart, and so I didn't feel the need to listen any more.

"Moira, are you paying attention to _anything_ I have just said?" Dad questioned angrily, his eyes blazing with a rage I had grown familiar with.

"Yes Dad. If I don't do the chores you've asked me to do at least 20 million times, you are stopping all my pocket money and grounding me until I'm 70. Have I got that about right?"

Dad sighed and his shoulders sagged under some invisible weight. "I wish you would start appreciating how lucky you are. You get almost everything done for you and yet you still complain when I ask you to do the simplest of chores. I don't know if I can take this much longer..." he trailed off, the anger replaced with a sadness that I wasn't accustomed to seeing on his face. Suddenly, he looked much older - withered and tired, his eyes sunk in and his cheekbones sticking out noticeably. What kind of daughter was I when I didn't even notice what was happening to my own father?

"Dad..." I tried, meaning to say something kind or reassuring that would smoothen out his worried face.

"I think you need to sit down, honey. I didn't want to tell you so soon, but I guess there isn't going to be a right time. You might find this shocking, Moira. It's about your mother."

It felt like I had just been punched in the stomach; my lungs had stopped functioning properly and my heart was beating so rapidly that I was afraid it was going to literally explode. Blood rushed around my body and deafened me, and I couldn't breathe.

"Mum," I whispered, closing my eyes and falling back onto the couch. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Not a warning, or some notice. This was it. This was the day I was going to find out who my mum was and where she was living. And yet, guiltily, I didn't feel relieved or excited. I felt nervous. Scared, even.

"Moira? Are you all right, love? Speak to me," he demanded in a concerned voice that made me force my eyes open. His face was close to mine, his eyes full of worry. I tried to smile but by his expression, it looked more like a grimace.

"Do you feel sick?"

"Not really," I murmured, not entirely sure of that fact. I didn't feel like I was going to be sick, but there was an acidic taste burning my mouth and throat and my stomach was churning loudly.

"Maybe this isn't the best time-" he started.

"No! You need to tell me where she is! I have a right to know!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with emotion.

"OK, love. It's all right, just calm down," he soothed me, rubbing my arm with his rough hand. It didn't help. "Please tell me. _Please._"

He stared at me for a moment, and then nodded and turned away. His hands were clasped behind his back, trembling slightly.

"A special hospital in California phoned me today. They had only managed to locate me yesterday and there were still things to sort out. They told me that Elizabeth, your mother, had taken an overdose. They tried to revive her but they couldn't get her heart beating. She died last night."


	2. Chapter 2

Grief

I didn't pass out, but everything suddenly seemed very hazy around the edges and the burning, acrid taste was now scalding. I clutched my stomach, jumped up off the couch, and ran from the room. I was heading for the bathroom but I wasn't sure if I was going to make it. Luckily, I did.

After I was sick, I lent against the cool bathtub and cried. The tears trickled down my cheeks and I didn't bother to wipe them away. I couldn't care less that my mascara was probably running or that I looked a mess. Mum was dead, and that was all I could think about.

How had this happened? Why hadn't Mum phoned to tell me she was ill? Didn't she want to tell me? Or was she trying to protect me? I couldn't answer these questions because I didn't know her; didn't know what she felt towards me - if she felt anything, that is. I could hardly remember her voice or what she wore. Worse than that, I couldn't remember her face. She was fading away, not even a memory anymore. She was a blurred image that I couldn't focus on no matter how hard I tried.

"Moira, baby, please let me in? I hate it when you're upset," said Dad through the bathroom door. I didn't get up to unlock it.

"What did you expect, Dad? I wasn't likely to be ecstatic, was I?" I snarled and then groaned as a fresh wave of pain shot through me.

"I know, I know. I just hoped that..." - sigh - "I don't know what I thought."

"Please leave me, Dad. I just want to be on my own. Go downstairs or go over to Carl's house. I don't care what you do, just stop talking to me," I mumbled, slipping onto the cold, tiled floor and letting my cheek grow numb.

I was aware that it was evening by how dark the sky had become; it was now a purple-black color with strips of orange and red, like a tiger. I pulled myself – stiffly - off the floor and blinked a few times. I was surprised Dad hadn't broke the door down, but it seemed he had forgotten about me. Good. The last thing I wanted was attention. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, to get everything clear in my head. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I had to try, if only for Dad's sake.

I stood up, yawning, and then unlocked the door with a loud click. As soon as I opened the door, I sighed. Dad was sitting on the stairs, slumped against the banister, fast asleep. I wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, but it had probably been since I told him to stop talking. But what I meant was that he was to leave, full stop.

I went into his bedroom and pulled the duvet off his bed and then went back out onto the landing and wrapped it round his shoulders. I didn't want to wake him, knowing that it would only result in me shouting or crying or something relatively like those two. I didn't want to worry him and so I left him on the stairs and then went into my own bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me.

I woke up to the smell of bacon and toast wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. It smelled delicious and for one brief moment, I was happy. Then the realization about what Dad had told me last night hit me. Mum was dead. How had I managed to forget that in such a short period of time? But I would think about Mum later, once I was alone, and didn't have to keep up the pretense that I was alright. I didn't like portraying any emotion to my father, unless it was a positive one. Negative emotions didn't only get me down; they seemed to be contagious, and I didn't want to make him suffer, too. After all, Mum and Dad had been separated – although not legally – for almost twelve years. He wasn't going to feel much for her now. This thought hurt me. I had clung to the small, bleary memories that I could only barely remember from when I was a child, and accepting that Dad had moved on didn't go down well.

As I entered the kitchen, I relaxed. Carl was standing over the grill while Dad was sitting at the table, sipping a steaming mug of coffee. It seemed that he was being taken care of, which mad every thing that much easier.

"Hey darling!" Carl cried as I closed the door. He forgot about the bacon sizzling in the pan and strode over to me to give me a bear hug that stopped me from breathing.

"Hey," I squeaked.

"How are you, sweetheart? Have you got it all out of your system, or do you want me to get the chocolate and dvds? I don't mind what we watch, just so long as we get to watch Titanic. The rest you can choose, just let me see Leonardo Di Caprio. He is seriously good looking."

If you hadn't already noticed, Carl is gay. He was the one who talked to me about boyfriends and stupid Catherine Fisher who seemed to be perfect in every way possible. He was my dad's friend but he was my friend as well. He was my best friend.

"I think I'm OK. I was wondering if I could go to school? I think it would be better if I got straight back into my routine," I said, hoping to hide the eagerness in my voice. I just wanted an excuse to get out of the house, and at least Dad wouldn't worry so much if he knew where I was and knew I would be safe.

Dad put his mug down on the table slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't think you're ready to go back yet, love. Maybe leave it a few days, once things have sunk in," he said quietly. And that's exactly why I was acting so normal – it hadn't sunk in. I still expected Mum to come back, even though Dad had told me she was dead. I hadn't had enough time for it to sink in. The crying spell I had had yesterday was because I had heard her name for the first time in years, not because I understood the rest of what Dad said.  
"I want to go," I persevered.

"All right. I'll drive you there myself so I can explain to the headmaster-"

"No! I mean, I don't want the headmaster treating me differently. It'll be hard enough with every pupil in school knowing, without the teachers as well."

"She's right, Stewart. Leave it a couple of weeks. Just let her get back; find her feet again before telling Mr O' Donovan. I can drive her and I'll make sure she goes inside," Carl promised, ever Mr. Compromise.

"It seems you're both ganging up on me, so I suppose I'll have to agree. But if there is any trouble, Moira, I want to know. Just phone me, and I'll come straight there," he said with a sincere look in his eyes. It was nice to know they were looking out for me, just in their own separate ways.

"Come on then, kiddo. Get washed and dressed and made up, then we'll hit the road," Carl said with a grin on his face that me smile, too; it felt strange though, to be smiling when I had lost my mother.

"I'll be two ticks," I cried as I ran up the stairs, already imagining what would happen when I got to school...


End file.
